Mark Johnston

Braggart

You should brag more. Really, you should.

I know what you’re thinking: “Actually, I should probably brag less.  I’ve seen the awkward sideways glances when I start going off on my achievements at work, the horsepower of my car, or where we’re planning to spend vacation this year.  I’ve noticed how fewer and fewer people are ‘liking’ my Facebook statuses about how good my life is.”

Okay, so you should probably dial back on that bragging – about the things you own, the important people you know, and the stuff you’ve accomplished.

But you should boast a whole lot more about one thing in particular; or, more accurately, one person in particular.

Your God.

There’s something in us that wants to show off, to take pride.  It’s a component of our personalities that has been badly fractured by sin.  But at its core, in its pure state, it comes from God.  He designed us to sing praises and toot horns.

Just not our own.

So who’s then?  His.  You should brag more – about God and his grace and his goodness and how he’s forgiven you and helped you and been patient with you and provided for you and done miracles in your life and in the lives of people you know and care about.

I’m not talking about slapping a “Thank You Jesus” label on your own achievements, like a crooked Walmart sticker haphazardly affixed to a toddler’s sweater.  I’m not suggesting you subtly disguise a few gloats about your own feats by halfheartedly attributing them to God.  We all know (have been) people who’ve given God the “credit” as a back door to what we really wanted: recognition for ourselves.

I’m talking about actually pointing regularly to God and his glory.  Acknowledging him in all our ways.  Confessing frequently that he is the source and the substance of all we receive and do.  Highlighting his accomplishments and seeking to make his name known instead of our own.

I’m implying that, when pointed in the right direction, showing off can be healthy.  And that it taps into a part of our identity as one formed in the image of God that is truly good.

So go ahead: sing the praises of your God.  Toot his horn.

Therefore, as the Scriptures say, “If you want to boast, boast only about the LORD” (I Corinthians 1:31 – NLT).

It's a Big Week for 11 Year Olds

What was on your mind when you were 11?

How to get the raspberry jam off your homework?  What it would take for the cool kids to like you?  How to beat Mortal Kombat 3?

Making a financial commitment so your church could move to a new place, helping more people find Jesus and follow him fully?

If that last one seems out of place, I feel you.  But at least one 11 year old had exactly that on his mind this past weekend at The Journey.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

What happens to us when we grow up?  We get caught up in bills we have to pay, stuff we want to achieve, and progress we want to make.  We get sucked into a vortex of self-preservation.

And in the process we lose the wonder of generosity and that childlike, radical confidence in God to bless us when we look beyond our own needs and give.

We need half a million dollars in hand to move to the building on Route 4 and reach more people.  It won’t happen any other way except through giving – with the same childlike trust of the 11 year old who made this commitment.

Someone joked recently about how nice it would be for The Journey to receive a single, extravagant gift so we could just make this happen.  I really have no interest in that.  I don’t want the kingdom to move forward based upon the sacrifice of a single generous person.

I want it to move forward through a whole lot of people like you and me.  Because if we move to a new place and you and I weren’t a part of it through giving, we’ll miss the incredible blessing of seeing God respond to our faith.

The building isn’t the prize.  You and I giving radically to accomplish something big for God is the prize.

Are you in?  If so, click HERE to give right now toward Advance.

Or make a financial commitment this Sunday.  Ask God for direction about what you can afford… what you can sacrifice beyond what you can afford… and what you can believe God to accomplish through you.

It’s our “big week.”  This is it… what happens this week determines whether we move forward or hold back.  As our friend Pastor Matt Keller told us Sunday, it’s “go big or go home.”

At least one 11 year old has chosen to go big.

“I thank you, Father, Lord of heaven and earth, that you have hidden these things from the wise and understanding and revealed them to little children” (Luke 10:21 – ESV).

Fall off the Ball

A month ago, my doctor gave me a wake-up call.  Apparently, I haven’t escaped the family predisposition toward high cholesterol.  Really high cholesterol.  So he sent me off with a prescription and stern instructions that changes would have to be made.

I haven’t had a dessert, croissant, or white bread since then. (Given my previous carb addiction, this is tantamount to saying I haven’t had a meal.)  And I’m frequenting the gym as well.

Last week I was perched precariously on an exercise ball there doing crunches when I became aware of something.  Bending up into the crunch went fine, but on my way back down each time I had this fleeting second of paranoia.  A little voice in my head whispering the same thing over and over:

“Don’t fall off the ball.”

Have you heard that little voice?

There are, after all, people around.  They’re in better shape than you.  The best thing you can do is stay thoroughly inconspicuous.  That means not falling off the ball.

(The problem is I’ll never get Vin Diesel’s abs that way.  Cautiousness doesn’t translate into an effective workout.)

Then it struck me, sitting there: maybe the best thing that could happen for many of us is to fall off the ball.  We used to fall off the ball all the time, remember?  It was called “childhood.”  We took risks.  We were more in touch with our faith than our fear.  Yes, we walked away with some scraped knees – maybe even a broken bone or two.  But would you trade it?  When we tell stories about being kids, it’s falling off the ball/bike/table/roof that’s most riveting.  Curiously absent are the tales of times we shrank back, listened to our fears, and failed to risk big.

If what you’re going to do today is the right thing, maybe you should do it so hard, so fearlessly, so all in that you risk falling off the ball.  Maybe you’ll never get where you want to go practicing caution instead of courage.  Maybe it’s been so long since you “failed” that you’ve grossly exaggerated what falling off the ball will cost – and entirely underemphasized the price you’re paying to avoid it.

Maybe you should knock on your boss’ door today and say, “I know it’s a difficult economy, but I think I have more to offer.  How can I take the next step?”

Maybe you should read the Bible to your kids tonight even if you’re terribly insecure about your own understanding of it.

Maybe you should hire that person you can’t stop picturing on your team.  Or fire the one dragging everyone else down.

Maybe you should take your wife to dinner and tell her you’re sorry you’ve been a jerk lately and you’re going to do better.

What’s the worst that could happen?  You could fall off the ball.  Which will mean… you’ll just have to get back on.

The downsides aren’t as bad as you think.  Take the risk.  Vin Diesel’s abs await.

Oh Yeah, I Know Him

My planning retreat ends today.  Each year, I spend a few days away alone recalibrating and planning for the year to come.  One of the things I work on is my life mission, which starts with knowing God.

What does that mean, exactly – to know God? 

I used to think it meant living a moral life.  In the Bible, our connection to God is repeatedly described as a marriage.  If we think in these terms, living a moral life is like a wedding ring.  It’s a symbol of our devotion; a tangible reminder of who (and whose) we are.  It’s a visible deterrent to would-be lovers who might otherwise seek our attention.  It testifies to our commitment.

But living a moral life isn’t the extent of knowing God any more than wearing a wedding ring is the extent of being married.  It’s a sign, but not the substance.

At times I’ve assumed that knowing God meant feeling spiritual.  Spiritual feelings are like the best moments of a marriage: flashes of physical intimacy and romantic euphoria.  They’re powerful installments of togetherness.

But anyone who’s been married any length of time knows these moments are more exception than rule.  In the same way, spiritual feelings aren’t the same as knowing God.  They’re a spark, but not the substance.

Finally, for a while I imagined knowing God meant accumulating knowledge.  Certainly the more I’ve learned about the person I’m married to, the closer we’ve become.  More of her life data is always emerging, like puzzle pieces that when placed together reveal her character more clearly.

But there’s a difference between knowing a great deal about someone and knowing them.  Accumulating knowledge isn’t the same as knowing God.  It’s a step, but not the substance.

Knowing God includes all of these things but is limited to none of them.  It isn’t anything that can be captured in a single term or phrase.  It’s a blend of purity and passion, a headlong rush into moments of mystery and a deep contentment with stretches of monotony. 

Like marriage, knowing God is learning more every day while being at peace with what one still does not know.  It’s sacrificing and experiencing and growing; it’s failing and rebelling and forgetting.  It’s all of this in the safety of a relationship you both know will still be intact tomorrow, whatever comes.

Do you know God?  Or have you settled for living a moral life?

Do you know God?  Or are you just caught up with spiritual feelings?

Do you know God?  Or are you satisfied with merely accumulating knowledge?

There’s no simple step of practical application.  I just want to stir you to settle for nothing less than really knowing him.

By his divine power, God has given us everything we need for living a godly life. We have received all of this by coming to know him… (II Peter 1:3 – NLT).

Please Pray for Me

Have you thought about how much you know about other people’s lives lately?  It’s a side effect of the explosion of social media.  Sally’s kid is having his tonsils removed.  Henry’s company laid him off.  Francesca has had a terrible week at work.  (I’ve always wanted to use the name “Francesca” in an illustration.)

The crazy thing is you found this all out during 60 seconds of scrolling Facebook or the look you snuck at Twitter during a boring meeting.  It can be a bit overwhelming.  And what can be even more overwhelming is that some of these updates are cries for help – more than just random information, but petitions for your sympathy and prayer.

What’s a follower of Jesus supposed to do?  Since the scriptures call us pointedly to pray for each other, simply ignoring all the needs that flash across our screens and hearts is not an option.  So how should we respond?  Here are some of my thoughts:

1. Don’t pray for everyone.  You’re not responsible to take on every need, because you’re not the Messiah.  Trying to pray for everyone is like trying to be best friends with everyone: it gets superficial in a hurry.

 

1. Pray for someone.  The reverse is true as well.  In fact, not praying long, drawn-out prayers for everyone’s needs should free us up to pray for someone’s needs.  Choose a few and focus in with laser-beam precision.  Make those prayers count.  Ask for specific direction and results.  And offer yourself to God to help in any other way you can.

 

1. Pray for someone you like.  If you’re struggling to decide who to pray for, gravitate toward someone you naturally care about.  Life moves at the speed of relationship, and prayer is best when it’s combined with a connection we already have with another person.  Don’t be afraid to prioritize and pray for your friends.

 

1. Pray for someone you don’t like.  Praying for people we already value and appreciate strengthens our connection with them.  Praying for people we don’t particularly value or appreciate develops our character.  It isn’t just people’s needs that litter Facebook and Twitter: there’s plenty of bragging there as well.  And some of it is probably coming from someone you can’t stand, are jealous of, or are tired of hearing about.  You’ll be startled by what God does in you when you pray for them.

The next time you’re checking in on social media remember that knowing some small thing about someone’s life may be all the empowerment you need to pray for them.  You don’t have to pray for everyone, but each of us should make praying for someone part of our spiritual development.  Start with someone you like; graduate to someone you don’t.  And you’ll grow.

With Great Power...

Spiderman 3 was on TV this past Sunday afternoon.  I surfed my way across it just before the first villain, the Sandman, started wreaking havoc downtown.

Poor Spidey (and not just because the third installment of his movie was so terrible).  He had such humble beginnings, and he always seems to have to be reminded of that.  It’s a familiar comic book story – ordinary kid has extraordinary experience and becomes a superhero…

And then lets it go to his head.

That’s always the real plot, regardless of which sequel we watch.  It doesn’t matter how scary the bad guys are, the true threat to our red-suited hero is inevitably himself.  He gets caught up in the fever of his own success.  The cheers of the crowd and the accolades of a few flatterers disrupt his equilibrium.  He starts thinking less about fighting crime and defending the innocent and more about achieving superiority and preserving his image.

We see it the first time he snaps at someone close to him.  That’s when we know that eventually Peter Parker is going to have to face a painful reminder:

With great power comes great responsibility.

Do you have great power?  Are you a supervisor, a manager, a pastor, a leader?  Are you a husband or wife or parent who calls the shots?  Are you an ordinary person who’s been extraordinarily gifted and now has unordinary influence?

With great power comes great responsibility.

Here’s how you can tell that you’ve start to let authority go to your head: by the way you treat those who are close to you.  When you overpower or insult the staff person, church member, or volunteer who “reports to you” because you’ve known them long enough that you think you can get away with it; when you’re impatient or irate toward the spouse or child who looks to you for leadership because no one who “matters” is watching. 

When the minor inconsistencies of the people who love you become major inconveniences to you accomplishing your agenda, you know you’ve let it go to your head.

It’s a clear symptom that you’ve bought into your own hype and you’re losing your moral center.  It reveals the darkness inside of you.  And chances are good that you won’t even notice it the first time it happens.  But chances are also good that someone will try to tell you.  In fact, pray that someone has the guts to get real with you about how you’re acting. 

Just like for the darker Peter Parker, when his girlfriend is lying on a restaurant floor after he’s slapped her in a fit of rage, someone will try to ask you for the truth: “what’s happening to you?”

You’d better pay attention.  Because with great power comes great responsibility.  And when great power is abused, it’s only a matter of time before great power is removed.

Think about it, Spiderman.

Spiritual Triage

It’s been a while since our family landed in the ER.  We’ve been through raging fevers, a fractured wrist, a bad reaction to medication, and a fishbone stuck in a throat (that would be me).  But for the last couple of years, we’ve managed to avoid the kind of emergencies that demand a harried trip to the hospital.

And I’m grateful.  I really don’t enjoy visiting the emergency room.  And I really don’t enjoy waiting hours on end for a doctor to finally see us.

When suffering people show up at an ER, the hospital staff begins something called “triage”: the process of figuring out who to treat first, based on the severity of their condition.  It’s a sorting system, developed for situations where a lot of patients require care – in an effort to increase the number of people who survive.

This practice of assigning priority is why you and I don’t like to go to the ER unless we have to – because it means the guy with chest pains will get in before us with our sore throat.  (I know: it’s very sore.)  It means the lady in her third trimester of a high-risk pregnancy is going to take precedence over us, with a fishbone stuck in our throat.

What would you think of an angry ER patient screaming at the nurses to hurry up and admit him for his allergies while someone lies dying on a stretcher that has just been wheeled in?  If the medical staff does their job correctly, they’ll ignore Mr. Allergic and treat Mr. Perishing.  They’ll prioritize.

And they’ll likely get some flak for it.  Jesus did.  He seemed to see the world around him as one big emergency room.  His mission was to determine who needed him most and get to them first.  So he treated the stained before the self-righteous.  He hurried to the broken, bypassing the blessed.  And he ultimately died to save sinners, not saints.

That’s why it’s remarkable that so many of his followers do the opposite.  We stick to the safety of our religious friends.  We cling to the cliques we’ve formed among the people who think like us.  And all the while we worry incessantly about our own minor aches and pains.

While people around us are dying.

The crazy thing is as Christ’s followers, whatever we’re going through doesn’t have the power to kill us!  There should be no spiritual hypochondriacs among believers: what Jesus did for us took the sting out of death and the victory out of sin.

Which means you and I can afford to let someone else go first.  In fact, if we want to be like Jesus, we will. 

We’ll meet that new employee down the hall who seems so antisocial.  We’ll invite a neighbor over for dinner.  This Sunday, we’ll pray harder for the message to reach someone who’s lost than we do for it to bless us.

We’ll prioritize.  After all, this is the ER.

When Jesus heard this, he told them, “Healthy people don’t need a doctor—sick people do. I have come to call not those who think they are righteous, but those who know they are sinners” (Mark 2:17 – NLT).

Lifetime Project

It’s a startling and unsettling realization I’ve had lately:

I’m going to be working on myself for a long time to come.

You’ve probably arrived at the same conclusion.  That annoying habit you thought you overcame?  It’s resurfaced lately.  That nagging insecurity you sometimes feel?  It hasn’t entirely faded.  That sinful tendency you determined to leave behind?  It’s ba-ack.

Chances are good there are many things that have changed about you.  A long list of shifts in your character, attitude, and actions.  Milestones in your quest to be a better you.

But the fact remains there are still dysfunctional parts of you, right?  Frustratingly incomplete aspects of your personality… and of your faith.  You’re going to be working on yourself for a long time to come.

Which is exasperating.  It would be much easier if there was a spiritual microwave we could pop our souls into, press just the right combination of buttons, and two minutes later be fully developed.  Emerge bursting with confidence in Christ.  Triumphant over every single sin.  Never in danger of losing our perspective or our temper again. 

But there’s no microwave.  No shortcut.

It’s a lifetime project.

Someone said something recently that stuck with me.  They mentioned a person newer to their faith we both knew was struggling and said: “they just need more of Jesus.”  They didn’t say it condescendingly (as if the person wasn’t spiritual enough already), or regretfully (as if finding more of Jesus had little chance of happening), but humbly and hopefully (with a  confidence that, given a little more time headed in his direction, things would change.)  They said it understanding that it’s a lifetime project.

You know what?  I just need more of Jesus too – and so do you.  And I’m not going to find that in some spiritual microwave, trying to zap myself into spiritual maturity.  I’m going to find it working side by side with him, sleeves rolled up to our elbows, engaged in this lifetime project.  I’m going to find it making mistake after mistake and achieving success after success, day after day.

So whatever is irritatingly incomplete about you – whatever you’ve been fighting with, fearing most, or failing at – what if you stopped longing for an instantaneous resolution and embraced instead a slower, ultimately more satisfying relationship with God?  

What if your primary goal wasn’t to decrease your imperfections but to increase Jesus?

In “The Pursuit of God,” A.W. Tozer wrote: The man who has struggled to purify himself and has had nothing but repeated failures will experience real relief when he stops tinkering with his soul and looks away to the perfect One. While he looks at Christ the very things he has so long been trying to do will be getting done within him.

You just need more of Jesus.  And you can’t find that in a spiritual microwave.  It’s a lifetime project.  Keep going.

Assume Nothing

What’s the most dangerous thing you’ve ever done?  Bungee-jumping?  Skydiving?  Motorcycle racing?  Alpine skiing?

I bet it’s none of those.  I bet the most dangerous thing you’ve ever done is make an assumption.

It’s the most dangerous thing I’ve ever done, that’s for certain.

In between my first and second year of college, I interned at a church in the Midwest.  The pastor gave me a combination of manual labor and teaching/leadership stuff to do.  I put most of my time and energy into the teaching/leadership stuff because I assumed that was most important to him.

I was wrong.  That was an awkward conversation.

“I just assumed…”  Those are famous last words, aren’t they?  And some of us are in the most dangerous spots we can possibly be in at this very moment – simply because we’re in the middle of an unwise act of assumption.

• We’re employees and we’re assuming nobody notices how little work we’re getting done – after all, we’re not as bad as that guy down the hall, are we?
• We’re moms and we’re assuming our kids will still grow up healthy even if we let them get away with everything – after all, the worst thing is for them to dislike us, right?
• We’re husbands and we’re assuming our wives will continue to tolerate our late hours, stony silence, or “harmless” flirtation with a friend – after all, she’s not exactly perfect herself, is she?
• We’re Christians and we’re assuming God is okay with some area of our attitude or action that flies in the face of his word – after all, he knows our heart, doesn’t he?

The most damaging thing about an assumption is the disrespect it represents for the other party who is being affected by it (and who will eventually have to respond – or react – to it).

The boss who’s being ripped off by us assuming our work doesn’t matter…  The kids who are missing out on healthy boundaries by us assuming it’s better to be popular than to help them grow…  The spouse who is being defrauded by us assuming that a lack of reaction so far means their heart isn’t deeply wounded…  And the God who is being dishonored by us assuming we don’t need his guidance. 

If you feel the need to do something dangerous, go bungee-jump, skydive, race a motorcycle, or ski a big mountain.

But don’t assume.  It’s the most dangerous (and foolish) thing you can do.

Don’t assume that you know it all. Run to God! Run from evil (Proverbs 3:7 – MSG).

 

Autopilot

Thank God for routines.  Can you imagine how demanding life would be if we had to think about all of it?  If, when we woke up every morning, we couldn’t complete our basic sunrise functions (grabbing a quick shower, fixing our breakfast, brushing our teeth) without developing a detailed plan?

In God’s infinite wisdom, we were created with an autopilot mechanism.  Certain daily, repetitious acts can be programmed into our psyches and pulled off with almost no deliberation at all.

The problem is we sometimes choose the wrong things to put on autopilot – and we sometimes leave the wrong things off.

For instance, we’ll put amazing intentionality into finding the fastest-moving lane in the heavy traffic we encounter every morning… when we should just sit back and enjoy the routine.  We’ll agonize over what to wear today… when no one else really cares what we choose.  We’ll stress out over where to go to lunch… when it won’t truly matter 24 hours later.

These are things that were meant to be routines.  Don’t over-think them.  Set your autopilot.

But what about the things we’ve turned into routines that we never should have?

We’re in a relationship with a friend, a spouse, a child, and it ought to be a daily exploration of the unending mystery of that person we’re connected with… but instead, we’ve made it just a routine.  “How was your day?  Good.  Mine too – wanna watch TV?”

Relational autopilot is slowly leading us toward disaster.

We’re committed to the process of growing spiritually, and it ought to be a daily quest to discover the deep love of God and see new facets of our own personality in the light of his presence… but instead, we’ve made it just a routine.  Read a chapter.  Mumble a prayer.  Promise to be more focused tomorrow.

Spiritual autopilot is slowly leading us toward a lifeless faith.

What if we reversed this trend?  What if we identified a few things that really matter to us – our friends, our spouse, our children, and above all, our relationship with God – and took all those things off autopilot?  What if we made the things that actually matter practically matter in the amount of thought and passion we put into them?

And then what if we put nearly everything else on autopilot?  What if we stopped caring whether we were able to pick up 45 extra seconds by changing lanes in traffic, choose just the right shirt, or make the perfect restaurant selection? 

What if we turned all the time we can’t control into a routine and all the time we can control into an adventure?

Everyone needs areas of life in which we can simply go through the motions.  But our relationships – with God and others – were never mean to be among them.

What do you need to put on – and take off – autopilot?